Pagan Revenge

by Sam Taw

“Don’t fuss, I just wanted a quick word.” I said, scowling at the man sitting opposite her. He immediately vacated for me to sit down. “Thank you, very kind.”

  Senara wiped her greasy fingers on her tunic and sat up straight as though I was the Ruvane.

  “Were any of Chief Tallack’s boats still in the estuary?”

  “Only a couple of the small ones.” She said, intrigued by my questions.

  “Any men aboard?”

  “Not that I saw. I assumed they were manning the foreign ship or the larger of his boats out to sea.”

  I picked at my nails thinking. She waited patiently for me with her hands folded in her lap.

  “You said that there was a big beacon on the headland ready to light, didn’t you?” I waited for her to nod before continuing. “Were there any more, perhaps smaller fires laid out to chart their course into the estuary?”

  She thought for a moment, as if she was following her route inside her mind. “There were traces of a fire at one spot on the headland, but none that were of new wood set out and ready to light. Do you want me to ride out for a more thorough look?”

  The burned beacon could have been Faolan’s signal for Ealar to appear during the fight at the estuary. No one was keeping an eye on the Novantae warriors’ comings and goings about camp. The old wolf could have sent one of his men to light it while he rode out to discuss terms with our enemies.

  I looked at the shield maiden on the bench before me. She had more gumption in her little finger than all the women of my family put together. “No, that’s alright,” I replied. “But have plenty to eat and keep your horse in a state of readiness. I might need you later.” I wasn’t sure what it was I wanted her to do, but the germ of an idea seeded in my mind. I strolled back the way I came, ruminating on the problem.

  Senara had turned fire into our best weapon, rolling flaming balls of withies into the Duros camp. In return, I had ensured that we were well prepared to counter its use against us. Could fire be the solution to our current crisis too?

  I pondered on this notion as I clambered back into the Ruvane chair next to Tallack. He toyed with the god sword, rolling the hilt between his palms and watching the light catch the blade at different angles. He was transfixed by its power. I’d seen that look before on his father. He was just as complacent to danger as Tallack. Barring ill health, the old fool thought he was untouchable, and chosen by the gods to lead the tribe for all time. No one lives forever.

  Tallack scanned all those in the hut before him. “I suppose I ought to say something about how brave everyone was and how we all pulled together, but it feels like a hollow victory.”

  I could see his point. “It also might be a bit too soon to rejoice, considering Blydh’s state and the fleet of enemies waiting to strike.” Before I could discuss the basis of my idea, Cryda came running into the hut looking for me.

  “He’s a lot worse, Meliora. The willow hasn’t lowered the fever at all. You must come and help him.” She shouted above the clamour.

  “Go back and cool him with a wet cloth. I’ll go out and see if I can find some holly leaves to boil.” She ran outside, leaving me to rustle up a torch that had not yet sputtered out. Crossing the wet grass to the eastern woods, I’d hoped to find a fresh torch with the watchman in the tower, but it was dark and no one was on duty. I assumed that we’d lost the person whose turn it was to watch in the battle.

  In the absence of firelight, my eyes began to strengthen under the weak moon. I stepped into the undergrowth of the woodland at the western edge, squinting in the darkness for the spiked shrub. It was hard to stay upright; the roots of the trees were hidden by brambles which snagged my legs drawing blood. The more I fought against the vegetation, the more it seemed to attack me. With a stinging rash and raised welts on my ankles, I pushed through towards the smaller tributary which crossed from the horse pen right over to the eastern watchtower.

  Like all the other places where the boundary wall lay over a stream, thick poles were sunk into the water course. As I neared the edge, I could see someone standing in the channel. His silhouette was slight, narrow at the hips and shoulders. No more than a tall boy. Just as I had decided to call out to him, the figure reached out and dragged a larger object into the water by his legs. From the way it rolled down the bank and splashed into the stream, I deduced that it was a dead body.

  Was it a fallen Duro that was missed during the clean up? I shuffled closer, keen to see who was going to such lengths to move a dead person. The limp arms were slender and elegant like that of a woman. The boy crouched down, twisting the corpse onto its side before pushing her through the narrow gaps in the poles. He was going to float her down the river. I knew that if the woman got through, the small frame of the lad would have no trouble following, and then I would never find out who either of them were.

  Making as little noise as possible, I hurried close to the wall as the boy ducked through and out into the river the other side. Cursing under my breath, I had to slip into the tributary after them to see through the gap. The water was perishing, I almost froze to the spot. I may be all skin and bone, but I was too wide to squeeze through the gaps. The best I could do was watch and wait to see if the moonlight would catch his face.

  Shivering and aching from every joint in my body, I held still in the water and stuck my head as far as possible between the poles. It was deeper on the other side. The full strength of the river currents almost swept the body away downstream, but the boy held on, pushing it towards the bank on the opposite side.

  Considering his size, the boy showed remarkable strength. Resting the head of the woman on the bank as an anchor, he heaved himself onto dry land and began tugging the body from the water.

  That was when I first caught a glimpse of the bird’s feather necklace around her neck. This was why I had not seen Kerensa during the battle or at any point since. The girl was dead. I had to cover my mouth with my sleeve to stop me from gasping.

  Who was this low-life rat who thought nothing of dragging our tribal members away in the middle of the night? I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I had to put a face to a silhouette, but he kept his back to the moonlight at all times. The other side of the river had a narrow path and then an expanse of marshland. The boy left the body on the track while he searched in the shrubs and bushes for something.

  By now, my legs were numb with the cold and my back hurt from the bent position I’d held for too long. I contemplated what might happen if I yelled out. Would he turnabout into the lunar light, showing me his face, or run and hide? If only there was a guard on duty whom I could call on for help. Fearing that he might escape before I could identify him, I risked staying longer in the frigid stream.

  I soon discovered the object of his search. He reappeared in full view on the path and straddled the body, holding a rock twice the size of his fist. With one careful swipe, he cracked Kerensa’s skull open, before lobbing the rock into the river. Everyone would assume that she’d either fallen, or been attacked by the Duros. This boy was cunning. All the more reason to uncover him to the Chiefs. He reached down and grabbed at the necklace, wrenching it from her throat. As he did this, the top row of quills ruptured, showering him and Kerensa in glittering flakes of gold.

  It clearly surprised him as much as it did me. He inspected the rest of the quills, shaking them and pinching the wooden stoppers from their ends. I suspect that the entire necklace was an elaborate storage of her gold. He slipped the remaining quills into his soaked pockets and scraped the spilled precious metal up from the track and her clothes. If he did not know its value, it could not have been the motive for her death. This puzzled me for some time as I watched him lift her arms and continue to drag her into the marsh beyond.

  For a long while I lost sight of him, the shrubs and shadows masking his trail. I was about to give up and return to report all I had seen to Tallack, when the boy reappeared on the path. He no longer had a reason to climb back into the water. He could stroll around to th
e broken south gates and let himself into the compound unchallenged. For a fleeting moment before he walked from my view, he turned his face to the moonlight. Young Treeve was not aboard the Phoenician ship alongside my friend Renowden. He was disposing of Kerensa’s body.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  How in the name of Cernonnus was I going to tell my nephew that his young lover was spotted staving in the skull of his brother’s woman with a rock? Not only had he killed her, the kyjyan had robbed and dumped her body too.

  I crawled out of the water and sat on the bank side, reeling from what I saw. In my mind, I couldn’t reconcile his actions. It was Sorcha who Treeve had threatened to kill, not Kerensa. What could he have gained from her death, supposing that he knew nothing about the wealth hanging about her person?

  The longer I stayed on the bank, the greater the likelihood of me succumbing to the cold. The grass was already turning white from the growing hoarfrost. My teeth chattered and my nose ran with humours, but I made it back to my hut in one piece. Cryda stood with folded arms and hurled a string of abuse at me for not getting there sooner.

  Only Kewri noticed my saturated state. His brow pinched with curiosity as he draped my bed furs over my shoulders and heated a bronze rod in the fire to warm some ale. There was no time to explain anything to him, especially with Blydh fretting and sweating and fidgeting in the bunk. The last thing I wanted to do was for him to dislodge the sun disc in his head again. He certainly wouldn’t survive a third procedure. That would be stretching our luck way beyond endurance.

  “I couldn’t find any holly to lower his fever. That’s where I’ve been.” I picked up my healing bag and emptied it onto my bed, looking for herbs to break the sweat.

  “There’s a big holly bush not far into the forest past the north gate. Shall I go and cut off a branch or two?” Kewri smiled. Bless that sweet giant, whatever his true name might be.

  “Thank you, Kewri. You’ll need one of my sharpest blades and a fresh torch to light your way.”

  He nodded, selected the largest knife I had left to me and disappeared into the night. I dried myself off and put on an old tunic and then rested the back of my hand to Blydh’s forehead. He was hot, but then my hands were excessively cold. Sweat soaked his hair and trickled down his neck. Cryda did her best to keep his head still, holding him steady about the ears but I feared that it would not be enough. I mixed another tea of willow and tried to pour it into his mouth, but he wouldn’t swallow. It dribbled down his chin onto his chest.

  With tears trembling on the edges of her eyelids, Cryda looked up at me. “Is this the end?”

  There was no way to coat this with honey. “I’m afraid it could well be. You should fetch the others. It might be the last time they get to see him.”

  She hadn’t even cleared the door skins before her hysteria descended into loud sobbing. She was never this emotional before giving birth to Delen, but then new-borns have a way of draining every bit of character from their mothers for a time. Perhaps she’ll spring back when the babe is off the teat. Either way, it’s understandable that she should fear losing Blydh. He’d always been the strong and dependable one. He looked such a wretched thing now. The pus seeping from his scalp smelled foul and made the flesh raw. His muscles were fading quickly and his cheeks caved in over his bones where before they were plump. He had not the reserves to see him through for much longer.

  It didn’t take long for Cryda to round up Tallack, Derwa and Glaw. They each knelt by his bed and promised more offerings to the gods in return for Blydh’s survival, while I boiled more water with which to steep the holly leaves when they arrived.

  “I couldn’t find Kerensa. Has anyone seen her?” Cryda asked, directing the question towards Tallack.

  He shook his head and then held his brother’s hand. “Why are they here? Glaw is not even of our blood. If he can’t help to defend his wife and her family, he should go back to the mountains.”

  Derwa tightened her fists and reduced her eyes to slits. “He may not be blood, but I am. I have just as much right to be here as you.”

  “Half-blood, and that’s only if Aebba was your father. We could never be sure.”

  “Stop fighting.” I snapped. “This isn’t the time for petty squabbles.”

  The mention of Aebba seemed to set Blydh off. He squirmed about in his bed, the fever making his speech slurred and incomprehensible for a time. Cryda shushed him and soothed his brow with a wet cloth. He murmured still, but calmed the thrashing of limbs for a time. Derwa grabbed hold of Blydh’s other hand and stared down her half-brother in a contest of who could love their brother the most.

  “Speak to us, Blydh.” Derwa muttered softly, expecting him to wake and conduct a perfectly reasonable discussion with her.

  “He can’t hear you, stupid kyjyan. The fever has taken his wits.” Tallack grumbled, but his deep voice was heard. Blydh became restless once again.

  The mumbles grew louder until he opened his eyes wide, lifting his head from the furs. “You will die, Brea! I’m coming for you. You hear me?” His breathing laboured. He panted like a dog, raising his upper body to the limits of his bindings. “I know you killed my father, Brea. You’ll pay, just you wait and see. I’ll cut off your tongue, I’ll rip out your heart. I’ll chop you into a hundred pieces and feed you to the pigs for what you’ve done!” The exertion was too much. He fell back onto the bunk and closed his eyes. No one moved, thinking it might have been his last gasp, but I could see his chest rising and falling with his breaths.

  Cryda was the first to speak. “Tell me that was the fever talking.” She looked at me and then at Tallack. Neither of us dared to explain.

  “Wait…” Derwa said, getting up from her knees. “Aunt Mel, is that true what he just said? That Brea killed father? It wasn’t my mother who poisoned him?” Still I couldn’t move nor say a word. She strode around the bunk to Tallack and shoved him in the chest. “Tell me that it’s not true.”

  Tallack rocked backwards, letting her shove him a second time. “I can’t.”

  “You’re admitting that you murdered my mother at the low-tide mark, when all the time you knew that Brea killed father?” Her voice rose to a shriek.

  “No, that’s not… no. Neither of us knew at the time.”

  “I can’t believe this. You killed my mother; you slaughtered my sister and grandfather, and you have my brother trussed up like a pet goat. Now I discover that Brea killed father. What will you do next? Have me flayed to make your new leather tunics?” She screeched at him at such a volume that he blinked from the flying spittle. He must have sensed that she might get violent. He scrambled up off his knees and stood towering over her while she pounded his chest with her fists. “You had no right to kill my mother. She was innocent.”

  Poor girl. Was it any wonder that her moods veered from one extreme to another so unpredictably? She had no stability in her life at all. Tallack had treated her with trinkets and gifts, but spent little or no time with her growing up. She was quite alone in the world. Maybe that was why she had begun to see the benefits of siding with her husband after hating him all winter.

  It was Cryda’s expression that I watched carefully. This was devastating news for her too. All through the cold season, she had cherished the clay pot containing Aebba’s bones, content in the knowledge that his death was avenged and his spirit would finally gain entry into the Summerlands. This revelation only served to highlight that he was, in fact, still roaming the Between Worlds without his head. His skull was interred in the barrows at Stonehenge during the midsummer gathering. The tears she shed for her son were now falling for her dead husband too.

  My hut was rapidly disintegrating into a battle ground with a sick person at the very heart. Derwa’s arms whirled about, thumping and slapping Tallack. Glaw tried to drag her away. Cryda collapsed across Blydh’s frail body weeping and moaning as though it was the end of the world.

  By the time Kewri returned with the holly, my hut was a seethi
ng mass of turmoil. Under my direction, Kewri lifted Derwa up, held her at arm’s length, and marched her outside. Glaw trotted along after her, leaving Cryda and Tallack inside with Blydh. Kewri blocked the doorway with his considerable bulk, preventing the demonic girl from re-entering.

  I quickly chopped the holly leaves, avoiding the prickles where I could and steeped them in the hot water. It really needed half a day or more to stew, but time was critical. If we couldn’t reduce his fever, the humours would grow inside and most likely carry him away.

  All the time I nursed him, the sight of Treeve pulling Kerensa’s body into the marshland plagued my thoughts. What had she done to provoke his ire? How could I tell Tallack of what I’d seen? It was beginning to feel a lot like keeping Brea’s murderous tendencies a secret, but I couldn’t say anything while Blydh was in such a state. What if he heard me tell his brother that she was dead?

  Then there was her father to think about. Kenver was the leader of the Alchemist Clan. They held great knowledge and power within the mining communities. Without their friendship and allegiance, we would lose the source of our wealth. None of us knew how they managed to convert rocks into ingots of tin. They kept it a closely guarded secret so that Chieftain’s like Tallack continued to show them respect. How would Kenver react to his daughter’s death?

  I poured more holly broth into Blydh’s mouth, hoping that at least some would trickle down his throat. Kewri gathered ivy tendrils and wove them about Blydh’s bunk to ward off the evil spirits that might come to drag him into the Underworld. He is a good lad. When I had done all I could, I noticed Cryda glaring at me.

  “How dare you not tell me about Brea. We shared a hut for all that time in Bentewyn, and it didn’t cross your mind to inform me that the low-life mountain girl had poisoned my Aebba.”

  “In my defence, Cryda, she did try to kill me twice too. She made it very clear that I would be next for the pyre if I said anything.”

  “That’s not an excuse. You could have told me privately.”